Interlude: Everglades National Park

Throughout my time cycling through the United States and visiting areas nationally protected, there has only been one that I visited without Eddy.  That being Mt. Rainier in Washington.  I now add to the already bloated list Everglades National Park.  I visited the park with my Parents.  We originally were going to bike there and stealth camp along the way, but like the best laid plans of mice and men, this didn't happen.  Either way, I was there and took pictures.  The Everglades are being killed by civilization as the water is only now trickling down to southern Florida when it once flowed like flowing water.  Irrigation, canals, reservoirs are all stealing the blood of the glades.  The animals and environment pay dearly, and the efforts to restore or protect all take as the foundation that canals and irrigation and reservoirs must always continue.  but I digress...

See them all at picasaweb.google.com/bingleadventure

Phase 3: Complete

The thing with phases are the same thing with each day on a bike tour. Where you start is so different from where you end. So with the ending of Phase 3, lets take a look back to where we came from, where are, and where we're going. And by we I mean me.

Way back in Texas, the humble beginnings of Phase 3 began. With snow flurries, ice, and overcast skies, I did find myself in Alpine, Texas. Chris' girlfriend Brittany came to join the bike tour with Chris and Phase 3 did begin. I ventured forth solo to Big Bend, my last national park so far, and headed across the get expanse of Texas. Rain, fogs, winds, and slogs great and small were in the cards for Texas, along with hills, music, new years, Gulf of Mexicos, and one of the worst places in America, Port Arthur. WOOF!

And then, finally, after more than a month, I entered Louisiana. Through marshes and swamps, more rain and winds, I finally  made it to New Orleans to meet up with friends. A week of debauchery, or at least one night, and I was on my way around lake Pontchartrain and back towards Baton Rouge for a last minute friend visit before heading north into Mississippi and the Natchez Trace Parkway. A week on the parkway and I had forgotten all about the fact that the rest of the south wasn't a low traffic highway where cars go way around you and there are free campgrounds all over. Mississippi and into Alabama, as loyal Binglers will recall, was not for the faint of the bicycle tourer's heart.

Crossing Alabama, in the back waters, the pine forest, and hills and dogs and I made it to Georgia along the Chattahoochee river. I followed the river more or less, passing through the diminishing hills, through state parks and down toward the pan handle of Florida. Sunless skies greeted me in the Sunshine state.

From the capital to the coast, I rode through the prairies, the forests, the flats, the Okeechobee lake. A few days ago I biked to the Atlantic, not only declaring Phase 3 complete, but also my second cross country bike ride. Me and Chris left the Pacific Ocean in Morro Bay, California on October 6, 2011 and I saw the Atlantic Ocean on March 1, 2012, 6,482 miles.

Phase 3 was 3,643 miles from Alpine, TX to Boca Raton, FL. My total mileage thus is 14,947.6 miles. It has been 10 months since leaving Burlington, VT. But what every Bingler is asking, if Phase 3 has ended, doesn't that mean.... YES, PHASE 4!!!!

Phase 4, or the final phase as it's called on the street, will of course begin in Boca Raton, Florida and will conclude not so far away in Asheville, North Carolina. It's a shade under 1,000 miles and will mark the official conclusion of this bicycle tour. I have already been in contact with the Mayor of Asheville and finally, a tinker tape parade will be awaiting my heroic entry into the fair city nestled in the mountains. Long and long have I awaited the glory, gold and free buffet that should be awarded me. Long and long I say.

Stats galore will be revealed then, and not a moment sooner. Also, pictures of the elephants and albino black crows that will be on display for my parade will be posted. It's been a long strange trip and I have loved almost every moment. I'll be sad when I hang up my touring wheels, but they won't get too dusty I'm sure. I look forward to learning the landscape of the Appalachians by bicycle and by foot.

Well, until Phase 4 starts and I actually have stuff to say about biking, keep pedaling

Another moment

I tramp a perpetual journey;

My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff

      cut from the woods;

No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;—

I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,

I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange;

But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a

      knoll,

My left hand hooking you round the waist,

My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents

      and the public road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,

     You must travel it for yourself.

I am reminded today that this day is another day upon the wondrous circle of life and death, and that we all continue perpetually on.  Pausing at times to reflect, we sometimes tack stock of where we are and judge.  But perhaps, on those days, those moments when we look, perhaps there is another way of seeing ourselves, our small life.  

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?

I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I          know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe,          and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,

And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,

The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,

I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and          fathomless as myself,

(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,

For me those that have been boys and that love women,

For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be          slighted,

For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the          mothers of mothers,

For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,

For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,

I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,

And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be           shaken away.  Perhaps on this day we let go of our self judgments, our negative thoughts, the constraints we place on ourselves and those imposed upon us.  We are not these selves we hold on to so dearly after all.  So on this day I will take the time to just be.  Aware that I am here, in life, amongst all the wondrous creatures and beauty that we have the miracle to behold.

Eddy's 15 minutes of Fame

http://www2.wrbl.com/news/2012/feb/27/news-3-special-report-couch-surfing-security-ar-3309994/

It's always sunny in Florida

No, its not. My first four days in fact were overcast, gray days with either rain or the threat of it lingering around like a slow leak. My first impressions, that oh so important impression, were not glowing of the state I have heard so much about. Things like: Its sunny. Its warm. Its long. There are so many oranges they even grow on trees. Thankfully, some of these things are true.

I began, strangely, in the capital. Tallahassee, a fun word to say yet hard to spell correctly, was my first introduction to the state and while I didn’t see much of the capital part, I did cruise through the university and along bike lanes, not only in town, but on the highway leading into the city. Yes, that’s not a typo, bike lanes ON A HIGHWAY. Oh my god, was Florida trying to lay some smack down on the rest of the south? Perhaps it was a fluke. I would soon find out having to take a major highway out of town to my next stop in Perry.

A shoulder. A three foot, consistent, no rumble strip, shoulder. The entire way. No changes between counties, no suddenly deciding to no longer have a shoulder. In fact, every once in a while there was a bike symbol on the ground, on the highway. And every street has a sign. Either Florida DOT is ubber competent or so many other states just put the oof in woof. I like to think its both.

Grey skies followed me as I rounded the curve and began my slow descent down the peninsula, cycling on my first Florida rail trail, the Nature Coast trail. Its about 35 miles in length though I only took about 25 of it, partly to Fanning Springs. I stayed with a wonderful warmshower host who clearly loved having cyclists come and stay, and took an au natural dip in the Fanning Springs, um, springs. A bit further down the path at the end and I continued south to make the connection to another rail trail, the Withlacoochee, this one running for 46 miles. The state is riddled with rail trails, and with highways that all have consistent, adequate shoulders for biking. Its hard to stress enough how wonderful, relieving and respectful it is to not have shoulders that are barely 2 feet wide with all of it taken up with a rumble strip in the middle. Of course, Florida highways often suffer from SRS (straight road syndrome), so lets not get carried away.

After spending a night stealth camping in Fort Copper State Park, even though I wanted to pay but there wasn't anyone who wanted to take my money, I finished the last 20 miles of the trail and was spit onto a highway south. Of course, as mentioned above, there was a shoulder, and when the shoulder ends as the road comes into a city, as they always do, there has ALWAYS been a sidewalk, often well maintained, to take its place. Hey, that's a lot of commas.

One week later....

Ahh, conclusions, so quick to jump to them. Yes, it seems Florida tried its best to disprove my earlier statements about it's bikability. With the towns of Lakeland, Okeechobee, and Lake Wales being horrible places to cycle. Disjointed shoulders which make walking trying, and biking difficult due to a lack of shoulders often when sidewalks are present, and of course, the endless traffic. And then, somewhere along highway 60, I finally found the bad shoulder in Florida. A few feet wide with a roaming rumble strip right down the middle. Brought a tear reminding me of Alabama and Mississippi.

Regardless, it was suns out guns out weather, burning my skin for the first time in a long time. I cycled the Nature Coast trail, the Withlacoochee Trail (46 miles), and the horribly signed and under repair Okeechobee trail. Diagonally I went through the long peninsula, passing through lakes and prairies. I spent a night at the Hitchhiker Doom Motel in Yeehaw Junction. Yes, Yeehaw Junction, before making my way to the large freshwater lake at Okeechobee, and two days later surprised my mom at Ihop in Boca Raton. While I still haven't seen the Atlantic Ocean, I more or less consider it done that I have gone, yet again, across the country. This time, from west to east.

Stay tuned for the Phase 3 wrap-up which will hopefully have some good stats, the much anticipated Phase 4 announcement, and some loving photos of Eddy. As always, see all the photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/bingleadventure and keep pedaling.

Georgia: A West side Story

Ahh, Georgia.  My first impression of this state was that it wasn't another state, namely Alabama.  Not to be too hard on Alabama, but biking in Georgia was certainly better.  Even the dogs were easier to yell at.  I spent only a few days in the western part of Georgia, but I done liked what I saw, and so Georgia will be one of the few states that I'll cycle in twice, joining states such as Utah and Wyoming, oh so long ago.  

I spent several cold days in Columbus, enjoying the river walk, going to a local hockey game (the Columbus Cottonmouths gave up 2 shorthanded goals to lose the game 2-0.  Pathetic.), got interviewed by the local tv station about couchsurfing, got treated to the nines by the local bike shop, got hair all over from St. Bernards, and just chilled out.  Chilling out is something I have needed/wanted more and more.  Now don't get me wrong, I love bicycle touring.  I love the adventure of life. I can also admit that I set an very unsustainable pace.  Biking the way I bike, which is hard and long, is great but makes me realize that a one year limit comes into play.  I love to bike and have biked my heart out for the past 9 1/2 months, and I wouldn't change any of it.  But the miles I have done in under a year most do in 2 years, meaning that I'm a bit weary.  Anywho, Georgia.

I more or less followed the Chattahoochee river which forms the boundary between Alabama and Georgia south of Columbus.  My first day out was along the river walk and into Fort Benning which I got lost in for about an hour.  After talking to what appeared to be the same person several times, or perhaps everyone there wears the same camouflage outfit, I finally got myself to a highway.  My day ended at the Providence Canyon State Park, a little mini Arizona almost.  The next day, amidst more clouds, I continued on the lazy highways of Georgia, peach less but still nice.  I eventually found myself at Kolomoki Mounds State Park, which contains several Native mounds similar to those I saw along the Natchez Trace.  I had an amazing stealth camping in one of the group house sites that should have been locked...but wasn't.  

A mixed cloudy/sunny day followed after heavy fog and I found myself cycling along a highway, with a shoulder, so bewildered that I just followed it where ever it did go.  It went to Bainbridge, which was good cause that's where I wanted to go.  The next day I was unceremoniously in Florida.  No state sign welcomed me, nor sun.  Only a list of the many hazards that i might encounter whilst in the state.  My favorites are housekeeping (a silent killer) and confined spaces.  woof.


Still no sun in the sunshine state, but my fingers are crossed that one of these days it'll show it's smiling face.  For now, I'm a panhandling kind of guy, making my way south towards the Atlantic ocean, and the #1 destination of many bicycle tourists in Florida, Boca Raton.  

If you want to send me mail you can send me mail in Boca Raton, just email me for the address.  Till then, enjoy the pictures at picasaweb.google.com/bingleadventure and keep pedaling, at least for a little bit longer.  

Biking in Bama

There comes a time in many a bicycle tourers life when they most stop, scratch their heads, and wonder why oh why. I found myself in this very situation often over the past week as I cycled through Alabama. In fact, I had a few titles I thought I would go with, like Bad Bama Biking or Sweet Biking Alabama, or Hey, Alabama, Why?? Clearly, confusion mists the airs of cycling in Alabama.

We all know that a Bingler moves forward Bingle by Bingle, but this is usually done with the aid of the free road maps that states give out like kittens. For 19 states, these maps have given me the keys to unlocking the landscape, the beauty, the people, the nooks and crannies of the land. Not in Bama. My 20^th state, and I was forced to do something I hadn't done for my entire time on the road, rely 100% on internet directions. Let us explain.

The highways in Alabama are 100% disrespectful of any type of movement that is not a motor vehicle. The drivers themselves were just as courteous as they have been in every other state, with the occasional cowboy. No, the roads were deadly to a cyclist. The highways I normally would take, the secondary highways, in Alabama were 4 or 2 lanes, which is fine, but none had a shoulder. Oh, but sometimes they did. That's right, for maybe a mile or two, in random places, the DOT decided to put a shoulder, often at the start of a highway where I would think about getting on, to lure me into the death trap that awaited. Shame on Alabama DOT for their inconsistent road design and inability to have a useable shoulder on their highways.

So, being forced onto back roads, I found the other side of Bama. The quiet forested hills that I rolled up and down as I made my way eastward, from Tuscaloosa, to Prattville, to Montgomery, to Opelika. These country roads were little trafficked, scenic and full of unleashed dogs. At one point, I think I had all the dogs of an entire country barking for my blood. I even had a pig come after me. I also found another shortcoming of the DOT, their seeming inability to have road signs up indicating the name/number of a road. Often I came to an intersection and had no idea what road it was, if I needed to turn or not. I stopped to check mailboxes for addresses, stopped by every yocal to see just where I was.

At times I enjoyed my biking in Alabama, at times I was frustrated by the state, the dogs, the lack of signs. But, as has been the case, I stayed with warm wonderful people and saw the land and people of a place I never would have if it weren't for my trusty Eddy.

And so, pulling into Columbus, Georgia, I breathe a sigh of relief to be in a state where they have recommended bike routes, and the coastal plain beckons at my feet, along with warmer weather. A shout out to Ride on Bikes, the amazing people there helped me out to with radical kindness. I head south towards Florida, the end of my south and eastern progression. Florida has been on my mind for a long time, with parents and family, and the only way to go is north, it's a transition time, the beginning of the end. Slowly, it seems spring will be coming, and before I know it, I will have been cycling through the land for a year. When I left Vermont, so little did I know. I know just as little, but this life I've lead, the times, moments of elation, the hills and screaming winds, the grueling climbs, the friends come and gone, it's been beyond what I can describe.

For now, I'll enjoy the rivers of Georgia, the rail trails of Florida, the coasts, wild and free, the warmth and sun, and the ever open road ahead.